Lionsnake Chronicles V: Harry and the Flanking Bishops
by Eria
Summary: Sequel to Harry and the Three Knights. Harry is used to finding unusual allies in the unlikeliest places. It is more uncommon to find monsters dressed in pink, threats in the form of marriage contracts, and crystals encapsulating true prophecies. Throw in a Christmas fiasco and he's cast a couple decades into the past. One thing's for certain: His life will never be average.
1. Calm Before the Storm

_**Author's Notes:  
** A quick note: __It is strongly recommended that you read the previous four arcs of the **Lionsnake Chronicles** , lest you get confused_ _by the events following this note.  
_

 _This is a Slytherin!Harry AU(ish) fanfic and will be updated monthly. I cannot update it any faster. The story's first chapter was postponed for a month because of external circumstances.  
_

 _May you enjoy your reading adventure._

* * *

Outside the summer had grown, but within the dark interior of Grimmauld Place the only thing flaring hot was Harry's temper.

"You can't seriously think I'm alright with this or you would have mentioned it weeks ago," Harry growled to his godfather, not caring that he had an audience. It was breakfast time after all, yet this argument couldn't wait for his two recently adopted cousins to vacate the kitchen. Considering that the obscenely large party was slated to start this evening, Harry's first priority was to get it stopped as soon as possible. At the sight of Sirius' stubborn set to his jaw, Harry leaned firmly on the solid wood table. "If you insist on the party, then you can't make me go. And you know it."

"Please be reasonable, Harry." Sirius said with that slow and easy tone better used for a child's tantrum, but his godson could hear his weariness and knew that if he pushed the matter a bit more Sirius would cave to his demands.

There was a small sigh from Harry's right where black-haired teen sat with a biography about the Weird Sisters, the same band which played during the Yule Ball last year. Nor did Harry miss the pointed looks coming from the Hufflepuff classmate on his left, who lazily stirred the eggs on her plate since the argument began.

The wiry man with tired eyes continued, "I only arranged this because you've seriously insulted several of the families who were once allied with the Potters. Had you not reacted negatively to their dowry notices, we wouldn't be in this position. I was simply—"

Harry's green eyes flashed behind his round-framed glasses. "It was your idea to invite their daughters over when I wasn't interested in the first place! I am not the one overeager to marry. Don't pretend that this party is anything more than an attempt to have me engaged by my fifteenth birthday." He held his tongue before he began to accuse his godfather of wanting to be rid of him now that there were heirs to the Black lineage. It wasn't his godfather's fault that his best intentions could look sinister to someone used to being passed along relatives. When Sirius let out a low sigh, Harry knew he had accomplished his goal.

His godfather sat down across from his recently adopted son and daughter. "Kreacher!"

With a loud, obnoxious crack, the Black family's bald house elf with enormous, severely bloodshot eyes appeared. His ears were bat-like, much larger than Dobby's, and had patches of white hair poking out of them, while a fleshy snout protruded above his wrinkled lips. His outfit consisted of a fraying, yet clean tea towel, which may have been pitch black in its far past. It hung around the middle of his scrawny frame much like his loose skin did with the Black family crest proudly stamped to the front of it. The house elf shuffled to the side, turning his head to mutter, "Oh my poor Mistress, what would she say after swearing he was no son of hers? Allowing filthy halfbloods into the house…"

"Kreacher," Sirius warned.

Completely ignoring the other two seated at the table—one of which was scowling at him—the house elf shot a look of loathing at Harry before bowing towards Sirius. A deep voice croaked as if it had been emitted from the throat of a bullfrog. "Yes, what can Kreacher do for the Master?"

"Have you sent out the invites yet?"

He peered at Sirius nastily. "Kreacher would have made it his first priority if Master would have demanded it." He clucked his tongue in distaste. "Master does not see how it would wound the Mistress to invite such scum into the Ancient and Noble House—"

"I changed my mind. Get rid of the invites, Kreacher," Sirius said darkly.

Kreacher stood up a bit straighter, obviously surprised. "Very well." Then he muttered under his breath, "Who would accept an invitation for that spawn of dirty blood—"

"Enough, Kreacher!" Sirius bellowed. "Away with you!"

"As Master commands," came the sullen intonation. With a snap, the old house-elf vanished with another crack.

The page being turned by Sirius' son broke the suffocating silence with a scraping hiss. Sirius tapped his fingers on the oak table worn by the hands of Blacks before him, frowning in deep thought. If there was one thing Harry wished he could change about their interactions, it was that Sirius would take his duties as godfather less seriously. Harry could do without the instruction on how to best impress witches or the constant digging into what 'traits' he preferred.

Harry had been—still was, really—raw and tight-lipped about the events of the awful tourney. Heaped onto that, the announcement of the formal adoption of two half-siblings into the Black family had left him shaken. He had spent three years living in strangers' homes. The ray of hope that Sirius represented, that he would provide Harry with a home with an uncomplicated guardianship always seemed on the verge of disappearing like a mirage. He wasn't sure how to rid himself of the uncertainty either.

At the instant of his cousins' introduction, Harry had wondered if he was not the godson Sirius had been expecting, so unlike James and Lily despite wearing a mixture of their likenesses. Nevertheless, he was also aware that it was selfish to expect Sirius to lavish attention on him when it had been Harry who pulled away whenever he was called 'James' one too many times. The Slytherin would remain defiantly in his room when meals were called thereafter, frustrated and grief-stricken that the adult he so trusted and cared for was mentally unwell from his thirteen-year ordeal in the bowels of Azkaban; oftentimes, Harry wished his father was alive to be the close friend his godfather plainly needed, since Harry could not.

To have survived so long among dementors was a Wizarding marvel; Sirius had even agreed to multiple interviews to compile biography about his experience there, despite how the mention of Azkaban tormented him. Yes, those hideous beings of darkness had a lesser effect on transformed Animagi, but it was still an incredible feat to have retained any mind at all. Harry had at first supposed he had continued living to exact vengeance for Pettigrew's transgressions, but the more he got to know his godfather the more he realized it was plain bullheadedness. Harry truly was grateful for his godfather despite their difference of opinion, considering he had few options left to live with a proper blood ward beyond a Weasley or Tonks household.

"What did you want to do for your birthday?" Sirius' daughter, the Hufflepuff, ventured to ask in the strained silence between Harry and Sirius. Next to her, Rigel turned another page, not appearing to pay any mind to the entire conversation though Harry was not fooled for one second.

"I wanted to spend the morning with my cousins and godfather. Maybe open presents and letters. Nothing fancy, Gertie," Harry answered, facing his cold porridge as he felt a sense of shame for interrupting their normally peaceful breakfast routine.

Gertrude Lewis, his year-mate from Hogwarts, had been less than enthused in speaking upon her formal introduction, which Harry attributed to already knowing one another. Within Grimmauld Place, she was referred to as 'Nysa Black', but Harry never missed the grimace that appeared whenever she heard it. The other cousin was a lanky Ravenclaw by the name of Rigel Black, formerly of the McCormack family. He kept to himself most of the time, but seemed largely unaffected by the adoption as if it were something that happened every day. Harry found his lack of emotional response and his fondness for reciting entire conversations in which he was uninvolved to be unnerving at times. Otherwise, he seemed like any other thirteen year old wizard.

Gertie looked slightly pained at Harry's discomfort and she turned to Sirius with wide, brown eyes. "Oh, Papa, can we do that? It would be something fun to do in this gloomy house."

"Of course, Nysa."

Heavily setting down the silverware, she swung off the bench and bolted from the table. "I have a present to go fetch!"

Harry watched Gertie sweep up her petticoats and race out the room.

"Rigel," Sirius said and was subsequently ignored. With a good-natured huff, Sirius waved his wand and nonverbally summoned the book his son was so engrossed in to his hands. "Rigel, did you get anything for Harry?"

The teen raised his eyebrows. "We hardly know each other, and being the last scion of the Potter family I'm sure he has piles of gold. What would he need from me that he can't get for himself?"

Sirius gave his son an annoyed look, but didn't pursue the rhetorical question. "Dobby!"

With a crack, a younger house elf appeared with a ratty sweater hanging down to his knbby knees and outlandishly striped socks pulled high like tights. He wrung his ears worriedly, large eyes darting from Sirius to Harry and back again. "That no good Kreacher never sent the invitations for Harry—"

"Dobby. I am aware—"

Dropping his hands from his ears and clenching them into fists, Dobby shook them angrily. "But now he burns them and cackles! He's too mean—"

"I told Kreacher to get rid of them," Sirius nearly yelled and the house elf shrunk back, tugging on his ears and apologizing profusely.

Harry tried not to grit his teeth at his godfather. Glancing at Harry nervously, Sirius murmured an apology and inspected the cover of the leatherbound book in his hands. Meanwhile, Rigel had closed his eyes with his hands clasped on the table in front of him as if in a trance.

"Thanks for looking out for me, Dobby," Harry said with some exasperation. "Stop punishing yourself. You've done nothing wrong."

Dobby stiffly pulled his hands away from his ears and held them tightly together. He turned once more to Sirius, "What does Harry's godfather need?"

Sliding the book across the table back to his son, Sirius sighed deeply. "Cancel all plans for the party tonight. Harry doesn't want it. Gather up the presents and letters and place them in the drawing room."

"But the cake, sir! What will be done with it?"

"We eat it, but let's not spoil our appetites for lunch yet," Sirius said as he cracked a grin at Dobby. "I wouldn't let your excellent baking go to waste."

Dobby grinned broadly. "It will be done!" With another crack, the house elf disappeared.

Sirius breathed in deeply and rubbed his eyes. Harry nibbled at the cold porridge which had obviously gone without a Warming Charm by Kreacher, while his cousin continued to read in silence once more.

Footsteps thudded down the stairs adjacent to the kitchen, alerting them to Gertie's reappearance. "What are you waiting for? Up, up!" She rushed away again, clopping against the floor as noisily as possible, likely in the misguided idea that it would scare away most Dark creatures.

"Don't want to leave her disappointed do you?" Sirius said with a wink, tousling Rigel's hair as he passed him. Lost within the pages of the biography, the Ravenclaw remained where he was, not bothering to straighten the mussed hair that now stuck up in odd angles.

Inside the old house, it smelled musty and old, regardless of Dobby's attempts to freshen the air up every other day. The place had only been made habitable since Sirius was let out of Azkaban, so the house-elf could be forgiven for not succeeding in removing the last traces of years of neglect.

Leaving Rigel behind in the kitchen, there was a coat-room immediately to Harry's right next to the long staircase which his other cousin had so enthusiastically run down. It had a wall lined with the mounted heads of the previous house-elves who had served the Black family. Harry rather wished Kreacher would stop putting the grisly unseeing heads back when Sirius wasn't looking. The corridor was lined with sleeping portraits, including one of Harry's parents, and its faded green carpet looked ancient. Old-fashioned gas-lamps lit the narrow corridor with a cool warmth and a sparkling chandelier above him cast light onto the white, artistically molded ceiling. Travelling down the well-worn carpet, he turned to his left into the drawing room.

Inside the spacious room was dark furniture carved with serpentine shapes and another chandelier—this one nearly took up every inch of the center of the ceiling and had snakes holding the candelabras upright with their mouths. The heavy curtains over the windows were a deep olive green. The wallpaper was the same as it was everywhere else in the house, a deep forest green with intricate black squiggles on it, likely alluding to snakes. The skirting boards, dado, and floors were polished blackwood. Honestly, everything about the Black residence screamed Dark Wizarding Family to Harry, but he didn't care as long as he could open a window to get some fresh air.

While Sirius rambled about going to the shopping district to buy another dress for her, Gertie fussed over the arrangement of presents.

"You liked the necklace I bought for you, didn't you?"

"I like it… Thank you," Gertie responded awkwardly, her movement not ceasing as Sirius continued to carry the conversation.

"You never wear what I purchase for you. I can't imagine a pretty girl like you wouldn't want to wear it."

Gertie cleared her throat. "Harry, did you like my gift?" As awkward as Harry felt around his godfather, the Hufflepuff appeared more so. He couldn't begrudge her reaction since Sirius lavished gifts of silver and silk upon his daughter without much thought. From Harry's time in Hogwarts, he'd never thought of Gertie as a fashionista, and she had yet to wear any of the gifts beyond the silver locket holding a picture of her mother.

He palmed the rose-colored stone. "What is it?"

"A worry-stone. I thought you might like it since you fret so much. You rub the top with your thumb to keep yourself occupied."

"Thanks," he said flashing a smile as he slowly rubbed his thumb against the smooth depression.

Sirius glanced at it and chuffed. "It's a Muggle trinket, better used as a paperweight if you ask me."

Gertie's expression stiffened but that was the only reaction she gave.

"Well, I like it," Harry said. "What's it made of?"

"Quartz," Gertie said, beaming, all traces of discomfort evaporating for the moment.

In that stifling room, a restless Harry opened his birthday presents and cards as Sirius continued to try to hold a conversation with the stubbornly quiet Gertie. Harry slit open an envelope addressed to him and a folded piece of paper dropped out. He carefully unfolded it, eyes reading Hermione's neat handwriting.

 _Dear Harry,_

 _Happy Birthday! I hope my present made it to you in one piece. To answer your question, I am enjoying my stay in Bulgaria, thank you very much. It's really no business of yours who I'm spending my time with, but I will say that I have a proper chaperone and the blessings of my parents._

 _I know it must be frustrating what with your godfather breathing down your neck about marriage. I've read into some of the nonsensical traditions expected of pureblood lines in that regard. There was something that piqued my interest, however, that could temporarily solve your problem. It's called a Marriage Contract. Now, before you worry about the permanence of this type of contract, the fantastic thing about them is that the terms are expressly outlined. Should one or both parties decide not to marry within a stated amount of time, this particular magical contract dissolves without fuss or muss as long as the terms are unmet._

 _Anyway, I hope you haven't been paying too much to the news. They've had nothing good to say about you or Dumbledore. They act like you've made a storm in a teacup. I hate how they haven't thought out the ramifications of ignoring your warnings. I fear the Ministry response will be too slow, if it hasn't been completely taken over by the time Voldemort's been well-proven to be alive and kicking. The situation is ripe for infiltration after all. How can one defend against something one doesn't even believe is true?_

 _In response to your questions about a resistance group started during the First War against Voldemort, I've heard mentions of an Order. It's all very hush-hush, but Ginny's written to me that she knows a few members that belong to it. She's also warned that there's a fair amount going on about You-Know-Who that has yet to make it into the Daily Prophet. People have started to disappear. Not a lot, but enough to make me think it is no coincidence. Please be careful._

 _Best wishes,_

 _Hermione Granger_

Harry folded it and placed it back into its envelope to peruse later. He reached for Hermione's gift and began to unwrap it as Gertie stood up with a vicious air.

"I have enough things, Papa," Gertie declared, "I'm not so spoiled that I need a new dress every day like some empty-headed Purebloods I know!"

"Of course, Nysa. I only meant to make you feel welcome—not… well, not overburdened."

Not having anything to say to that, Gertie busied herself by collecting pieces of used wrapping paper.

With a strain to his face that hadn't been there before they sat down, Sirius clapped a hand to Harry's shoulder. "I've some letters to write. I'll see you both during lunch."

"See you," Harry murmured.

"And don't slip out, you know it's dangerous outside," Sirius scolded with a lighthearted twinkle in his eyes.

"Only an idiot would sneak outside the Unplottability perimeter," Harry huffed. "I'd like to keep myself in one piece, thanks."

Sirius chuckled and winked at Gertie, who still had not turned to face him as she smoothed out the wrinkles of her dress. Once her father had left the room, she clicked open her locket and stared at the picture inside.

She didn't appear upset as she closed the locket in her palm, but lost like a misplaced shoe.

"Gertie, when do you get to visit your mum?"

A pain-stricken expression lit across her face, and she turned away from him. "What do you mean by that?"

"Er, sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

"I'm not upset." In a flurry of petticoats, her dress swished behind her as she stomped out of the room. Harry saw the damp parting glance begging to differ with her account, before she disappeared around the corner and up the stairs.

Her mother was still alive, so Harry wondered why it was a touchy subject. Setting aside Hermione's gift, he decided to seek answers. When he found the kitchen empty, he assumed Rigel had retired to his room. Harry ignored the mounted heads as he climbed the steps to the next floor, passing Gertie's room, and knocked on Rigel's door.

"Yes, come in."

Opening the door, Harry stepped into the room, so different from his own. It was filled with lanterns of light which glowed against the sheer white curtains crisscrossing the walls. It brought an airiness to the small room that Harry hadn't thought was possible.

"What is it?" From behind a black, silky fringe, a pale teenager looked up from his book when Harry entered the room and then went back to reading where he was seated on a large couch. As usual, he was wearing all black with a multitude of silver-wrought ear piercings.

"Why won't Gertie talk about her mum?"

Rigel chuckled darkly, slapping the book closed. "Our mothers gave us away for a piece of the Black fortune." At the cross look that came upon Harry's face, Rigel raised an eyebrow. "Sirius did father us, you know. The Paternity Scroll proves it."

"That's rotten," Harry said darkly. "Bartering your own child for money. I don't know how anyone could give their child away or accept them under those terms."

His cousin's eyebrows rose in a serious manner. "Don't think poorly of Dad. This family has been validating bastards for centuries either as bargaining chips in gainful marriages or to continue the bloodline. It's the most practical way to keep it going with a family so obsessed with being pureblood. Just look at the plight of the Gaunts. They refused to recognize bastards and see where that got them."

"The Gaunts?" Harry's brain tickled as he recalled where he'd seen the name. "I had no idea there weren't any surviving members."

"I'm certain there are surviving members in one form or another. Simply in a form that the Gaunts wouldn't have considered a Gaunt." The Ravenclaw waved a hand. "Their official bloodline died off not long after the Pureblood Directory was published. So much inbreeding between cousins gave insanity a chance to take root. They bragged that Death liked them the most and that was why they had no need to adopt. Absolute nutters they were."

Harry thought on that for a moment before asking the question that had pressed him from the moment he had been introduced to 'Nysa'. "So, why did Gertie's name have to change? What was wrong with Lewis?"

"No member of the House of Black would be allowed to carry a Muggle name. Her middle name was Nysa, so her mum must have known there was a possibility that she would inherit something from this family." Rigel gestured dismissively. His rapid-fire words clearly showed that he didn't like to waste time mincing words, not that he lacked sympathy for his half-sister. "Nysa's not a half-blood or else her mum's petition would have been tossed out like the other dozens made. Of course, I don't think they were all legitimate considering Dad was in Azkaban for a year by the time their children were conceived. Though, come to think of it, it's possible that someone could have collected his essence and placed a Stasis Charm on it. I doubt most people think that far ahead, really."

At Harry's puzzled look, Rigel continued at an even quicker pace, "I don't suppose you know anything about the number of petitions Dad received since you avoid the tabloids like the plague. That's probably why he's so intent on getting you accustomed to the idea of marriage as soon as conceivably possible. Then the messy matter of inheritance takes care of itself." At Harry's affronted look, Rigel grinned. "Please, by all means, continue dragging your feet. I imagine once he's done with you he'll fixate on me as heir to the Black line, and I particularly enjoy that he doesn't smother me like Mum." Without batting an eye, an open book with a winking picture of the vocalist from Weird Sisters came up between them and effectively ended the conversation.

Momentarily forgetting about his unopened presents downstairs, Harry left the Rigel's room deep in thought. He traveled over the creaky floor boards passing the Lineage Room and went to his own that had a silver nameplate inset into the door with the letters HJP.

Though his room was a bit gloomy, it was comfortable. The floor was dark ebony and the walls were a bright green, trimmed with silver. There were built-in shelves into the walls holding all the books he'd ever been given and a broomrack where his Firebolt was placed. Harry's four-poster bed was made of varnished black walnut and took up nearly half the room. The cover was made of black silk and had a huge Slytherin crest on it. Harry traced his fingers over it, remembering how Sirius had spoken about it belonging to his little brother, Regulus. A large rug took up the space between an ostentatious chest of drawers covered in carvings of serpents and a writing desk on the other side. Dobby had placed his school trunk somewhere after emptying it, but would no doubt return it when Harry had need of it again.

Since his first conversation with Rigel, Harry knew that this particular third cousin was direct to an extreme nor did he ever spend time softening his exit out of social interactions. Harry wasn't entirely sure if it was because of impatience or a complete disregard of good manners, though he hardly let it bother him. Whenever he needed a good laugh, he entertained the idea of how Augusta Longbottom would react to such an impertinent youth who kept odd hours and habits. She would have tied buckets of water to Rigel's hands simply as a reminder. Thinking of this hit Harry with a pang of worry about Neville. Was he faring alright under his grandmother's intense smothering? They had exchanged letters, but Harry felt much less involved in the Gryffindor's life now that they were living apart. If Rigel's approximation of inheritances and dying bloodlines were anything to go by, Mrs. Longbottom's over-protectiveness of her son's direct heir made more sense. Harry still didn't have to like her over-strict childrearing method.

He sat at his desk and opened the thick letter from Hermione once more. His eyes wandered across it over and over again, pulling out the scant details. Dumbledore's mysterious band of operatives was obviously the Order which stood against Voldemort. It had to be active if Ginny knew members who belonged to it. No doubt it would include members of her own family, known enemies of the Dark Lord.

The regularly rule-abiding Hermione must have been warned to keep mum by Ginny without a very good reason as to why she should. Having gotten to know Rigel more and evidenced by Luna's inquisitive personality, Harry knew that a Ravenclaw's Achilles' heel was their curiosity. While Hermione had been sorted to the house of lions, it was no wonder that she had had a hat stall as she exemplified both Gryffindor and Ravenclaw traits. Secretly, Harry was glad she had been placed in Gryffindor. Otherwise, she might not have involved herself in the tomfoolery of their earlier years at Hogwarts.

Hermione's curiosity in particular was the unquenchable kind that couldn't be assuaged by simplistic commands. Pique her interest in a mystery and she wouldn't have to be persuaded to dig for information. Yet, combined with her strong sense of justice and fairness and it was obvious to Harry why she ultimately had been sorted into Gryffindor. No matter the honor code she followed, it was flexible to interpretation if it was for a righteous cause. The delicately worded slip-up in the card she had sent from Bulgaria was her small act of rebellion to someone who expected blind loyalty. Maybe she wasn't telling Harry everything, but it felt good to know she continued to believe in him and cared enough to warn him about the disappearances that Auror Tonks had warned Minister Fudge would start again.

Considering that every day since the end of school term had consisted of a cycle of ceaseless visions, Harry felt lucky to be surrounded by family who didn't hate him. Otherwise, the expectation of Voldemort breaking his peace with visions coupled with the mounting tension and temporary relief when nothing happened for weeks may have driven him to extreme measures. Sadly, even with the liberal use of standard sleeping potions, Voldemort drew Harry to possess Nagini whilst Harry slept and then the ruddy blighter would torment him when Harry could not escape his clutches.

Obviously, the Minister of Magic would refuse to believe that Voldemort had returned, disappearances or no disappearances. This was compounded by the Daily Prophet and its smear campaign against both Harry and Dumbledore, the most credible sources of the Dark Lord's reappearance.

Harry had been livid at first that the paper's lead editor had run several articles disparaging his opinion piece about You-Know-Who coming back. People simply didn't want to believe Voldemort, the scariest Dark Lord in recent memory, was back. Of course in a political climate like this, Harry would become the butt of a joke, a punchline that had started with Rita Skeeter's articles about him last year. Though Skeeter was no longer behind the current campaign, other critics had taken up her mantle. Their opinion held him as being no better than an attention-seeking fraud. _The Death Eater in charge of their little reunion is behind bars where he belongs_ , they had more or less written. _Why go around stirring up fear with your ridiculous exaggerations unless you have a love of the attention that comes with being a tragic hero?_

Denying that he was telling 'ridiculous' stories or that he had a love of attention would have fallen on deaf ears. No matter what Harry said or wrote most wouldn't believe him without more concrete proof. It was infuriating.

He shivered as cold encroached along his skin and pocketed the cryptic birthday card. He drew his arms against his chest. It felt like ice was slipping down his throat, numbing his stomach. _Bugger this_ , he thought and slid open the window in his room. He quickly climbed down the side of the brick wall with old, crumbling mortar, gouging enough finger-space between the bricks.

Harry shuddered as cold chilled him even with the sun beating down on him. He took a deep breath of hot muggy air to little effect. He hopped down to the tiny patch of grass in front of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place.

It seemed to be the hottest day of the summer and it wasn't even noon yet. A drowsy stillness lay over the large apartment block. Cars that usually gleamed stood dusty in their parking spaces along the street beneath wilting city trees. Hanging gardens from poles lining the street had been taken down once the greenery had been reduced to yellowing clumps in the baking sun. Even near the heart of London, cicadas were thrumming their song in the late day, pulsing like a giant's heartbeat.

Harry's eyes scanned the stretch of cobbled road. The inhabitants had retreated into the shadow of their cool apartments. The only person left outdoors besides him was the occasional pet-sitter. He sat in the baking sun that hardly seemed to touch him, pressing against the warm stone of his godfather's flat.

He knew what he looked like, skinny with the pinched look of someone who had grown a lot in a short space of time due to a modest growth spurt. His denim trousers were torn and dirty with rust from the downspout and his shirt faded from Kreacher's over-washing. If anybody could have seen him, they would have said Harry was homeless or a runaway. Harry Potter knew he was neither.

Lying back onto the grass, he stared up at the blue, cloudless sky for a moment and then closed his eyes. There weren't any Monitoring Charms on the third-floor window leading to his bedroom, but Harry thought that oversight had been done deliberately. It was not very comfortable lying on the dry, brittle grass, but the cold seemed to be receding away from the buzzing waves of insects.

Voldemort's power was on the rise, while Harry stagnated in his godfather's house. To be honest, he was only fifteen. There really wasn't much he could do besides rescue books on Dark Arts that Sirius had ordered Dobby to torch. Dobby had come to Harry very upset over the destruction of said books by the way he was clutching his ears. He had told Dobby to hide them in the unused wardrobe, so he could study them later. By doing so, some of the ever-present tension he had carried with him since that blasted tournament finally receded. Harry hadn't been expressly forbidden from reading them, though he knew Sirius would be angry if he found out. If he was gaining advanced Dark Arts theory and practicing wandforms to counter the foulest and nastiest of them, he highly doubted that his godfather would blame him.

A sticky summer breeze grazed the fringe of Harry's hair pulling him from his self-absorbed thoughts. Watching a sole bird soar by on thermals, he let out a long, slow breath as he stared at the vast blueness above him. Honestly, the additional occupants to Grimmauld Place didn't bother Harry that much. As if sensing his poor mood, they kept to themselves unless they wanted to borrow Hedwig to deliver letters. Neither of them trusted the tiny and excitable Scops owl, Ruffles, to make deliveries on time. Only Sirius treated the official Black family owl like any other, which was kind of him but impractical.

Before Hermione's letter, Harry had assumed that his friends were having such an eventful summer that they had little time to write. It had been odd that nobody else had even hinted about Voldemort's activities to Harry in any of their letters, not even Draco, whose father mysteriously allowed correspondence to recommence between the two; Harry reckoned it was by Voldemort's direct command and the thought soured Harry's feelings about the letter exchanges.

Though in hindsight, Harry should have realized that even the son of a Death Eater would censor himself, especially if Draco thought Harry would run off like an impulsive Gryffindor. Of course, Harry didn't discount that Draco's father would deliberately tamper with his only heir's letters in case Draco tried to pass sensitive information. Voldemort was well-known for the gruesome torture of spies if The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts could be believed.

Then the summer heat ceased to exist. Harry ran his icy hands over his chilled forearms, after sitting up to look around. His breath wasn't coming in puffs though nor was there a dementor in sight. He didn't know why he would get so cold, but he hated it. He hated how cold his godfather's house was. Then the cicadas grew louder, and the sun's heat seemed to finally slide into his skin. Shifting so he could lean back against the warm brick wall again, Harry grew drowsy once more.

A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot and a couple of birds flew out from under a tree into the bright sky. It was a frequent sound in London, but usually not that close. Harry was undisturbed by the sound of Apparation because it was likely another hopeful, well-dressed girl; he didn't try to sit up, though he kept his hand near the sheathed greyish white wand in its holster. He didn't care that Sirius would raise his voice about insulting prospective brides again. There was another crack of Apparition, likely the escort of whoever had come for dinner. Someone had to be given the Secret in order to see Harry on Unplottable land, so he wasn't that worried that it was an enemy. However, it didn't hurt to remain on guard.

A tall shadow fell over Harry, dipping him in unwanted cool shade. "It sounds lovely, doesn't it?" came a teasing tenor voice, nearly drowned out by the insects.

"Yes, but I wouldn't say they're lovely," Harry said, referring to the call of the noisy insects, "more like comforting." He cracked open an eye. It was sandy-haired Theodore Nott, dressed in very fine dress robes, the same set he'd worn to the Yule Ball. "What the bleeding hell are you doing back so soon?" He said as he sat up. His friend had a shadow of a beard and looked much more solid than Harry had seen him last.

"I'm your play date tonight," Theo said with a voice deeper than Harry remembered. Little wonder that he hadn't recognized him when he first spoke.

Harry laughed, shifting to the left to give some room for his best mate. "Our plan worked? Unbelievable."

Theodore crouched in the small space beside Harry. He'd grown too much to fit on the green, but he didn't seem to care as he leaned back against the old brick outer wall shading his face from the sun. "Beautiful day, not a cloud out." He smiled at Harry. "I guess you love summertime, since you were outside in this miserable heat last time I visited. Good thing I convinced Da to put a Cooling Charm on my suit."

Harry chuckled. "It's my favorite season."

The werewolf closed his eyes, tilting his chin up as he breathed in deeply. "Most people prefer the spring or fall when it's actually nice to be out."

"Well…" Harry murmured.

His friend tilted his head in question, until Harry had gathered enough courage to speak.

"Summer means peace to me," Harry admitted slowly. "Dudley often left me alone when he roamed the surrounding neighborhoods with his gang. Aunt Petunia didn't like gardening much so I was stuck outside digging in the dirt. I think she meant it as punishment, but I loved it. There was plenty of sunlight and fresh air."

"What do you suppose they are?" Theodore said, gesturing to the air.

"What?"

"The noise. They're typical summer visitors, aren't they? That's why you're sitting outside to listen."

"They're cicadas. I have no idea if they've a different name by wizards. You don't hear them out often since they hibernate underground for many years and then crawl out in droves. I've never found one before, but they're large insects in the Encyclopedia pictures I've seen. They really carry on."

"Ah, yeah. I've seen them before. Not around here though," Theodore said with a wry grin. "Do you always greet your guests in torn Muggle clothes?" When Harry smirked, his friend laughed, pushed himself off the ground, and then helped Harry to his feet. "Bet it drives your godfather barmy."

"I've learned that if I dress nice and act polite, my prospective suitors will take… liberties with my personal space when the chaperones aren't looking." Harry scowled, putting his hands in his trouser pockets. "This way they know where they stand."

Theodore's eyebrows had risen. "I suspect they have been encouraged to take the initiative with you, then. Some wizards are shy."

"I'm not shy," Harry said angrily, "I really have no desire to snog or get fondled, but Sirius doesn't seem to get that. He's halfway convinced that I fancy blokes."

"Which is why we've taken that assumption to our advantage," Theodore said, wrapping an arm around his shoulder. "Let's go have dinner and sneak off to your bedroom to play Exploding Brag, while—"

"Exploding Brag?" Harry queried.

"It's a game I've devised based off that Muggle card game. I've the rights to it and an exclusive agreement with Fred and George Weasley to sell it in their mail-order catalogue this year." Theodore's grin grew even more. "I never miss an opportunity to turn a Knut."

"Sounds fun," Harry said as Theodore pulled away so he could open the door. They entered through the majestic dark wood door. Harry missed the cicadas as soon as the door closed, placing a barrier between him and the deep warmth of summer.

"So any luck yet with the powdered wand?"

"Ollivander wasn't kidding when he told you that she wanted to be exactly re-purposed. I've tried divining this several dozen times, but…" They took a sharp right, passing by a set of thick velvet curtains hanging on the corridor wall on their way through the sitting room. Theodore sighed when he didn't have the words to describe his frustration. Harry's young cousin sat in a plump velvet-lined chair, reading as usual.

"Hi, Rigel," Theodore called out.

Rigel's dark eyes lifted momentarily, but didn't respond otherwise.

The two Slytherins walked past the open ebony door with a serpent-headed door-knob and into the adjoined dining parlor. The door swung shut behind them. It appeared that Sirius would forego chaperoning them.

Theodore turned. "Is Rigel always so quiet?"

"Most of the time, but once he starts he'll carry on all by himself," Harry said. "He's at his loudest when he practices his guitar playing or when he turns the volume all the way up on the WWN during Weird Sisters' concerts."

"Has Gertrude been better after her friend was over?"

Harry let out a sigh as they walked towards the table. "No. Dunning stayed for several weeks, but it didn't work. I invite Gertie to play chess with me every other day, but most times she stays locked up in her room and won't come out. Dobby says she hardly touches the food he brings her. I really think she needs to get out of this house."

A frown marred Theodore's face. "She could miss her mum."

"Yeah. Only found out today that they aren't allowed to communicate with their mothers for another year, and then they only get to exchange letters." Harry shook his head at the harsh adoption stipulations into the Black family. "I don't know why Sirius can't fix the rules so that they aren't as harsh."

"Traditions of families like these are steeped in blood magic. To reverse a directive would require a sacrifice equivalent or greater than what laid the original framework down. He probably isn't willing to pay the price."

Harry didn't ask what the price could be. He stared up at the magnificent chandelier hovering over an already set table.

"Well. As far as I can tell your old wand doesn't want to be made into a powerful talisman or amulet against Dark energies," Theodore continued the previous line of conversation, "which is just strange. I've done this before, and the others were more than happy to be made into something that could protect their master."

"Well, you've made it farther than I have. I only ever hear a humming sound." Harry pulled out the chair for Theodore from polite habit and then took his own across the table, ignoring Theodore's amused look. Harry picked up the bulbous glass and slurped the cold water down thirstily. He'd been out in the sun nearly all day today. If it wasn't for the Sunburn Salve that Harry used consistently every night, his skin would've likely been bright red instead of sporting a golden tan.

"So, do your dreams still bother you?" Theodore knew that the visions that Harry was plagued with were no dreams at all. However, Sirius didn't know anything about them, and Harry wanted to keep things that way. He doubted the Sirius would deliberately eavesdrop with magic, but in a house this old it wouldn't be that surprising if the Head of the Black family had less invasive methods. The magical espionage book had detailed the kinds of passive listening wards that could be keyed into one's estate. _That was an idea_ , Harry thought grimly. _Perhaps Sirius expects me to loosen my tongue without a chaperone around to actively listen in._

"I haven't had one in the past month…" Food appeared on their plates, and Harry picked at it. He was disinterested in the slice of beef wellington, the sautéed sticks of asparagus, and scoop of chive-laden mash that came with it.

"Ah." Theodore sawed through his rare beef wellington with practiced ease. "When we leave the parlor, I need you to act a little furtive as we're going up the stairs," he said.

"You want me to tiptoe past the kitchen?" Harry chortled.

"I simply wish to cement our very close fondness to one another so your godfather will continue to invite me over." Then Theodore winked.

Harry let out a loud sigh. "Well, I suppose maybe that will mean he'll lay off the suitors…"

"Doubt that," Theodore said before he crammed a large piece of the pastry-wrapped bloody steak in his mouth.

Frowning, Harry took another gulp of his water.

"Mr. Black told my father that he'll allow my dalliances with you so long as I don't interfere when he does find a proper match for his godson."

Harry snorted water down his front.

"I, of course, agreed."

Wiping his face and trying to sponge some of the liquid off his clothes with his cloth napkin, Harry shot Theodore a glare. "I thought the plan was to stop my godfather from ruining the rest of my summer with prospective brides?"

"I have stoically agreed to sacrifice my Monday and Saturday nights, excepting full moons, to the cause, your Grace."

"Oh, shut i—" Harry cut himself off when the door opened.

In walked Sirius Black wearing a nice suit, his face clean-shaven and his long black hair drawn back into ponytail. He had the gravest expression on his face than Harry had ever seen. In his eyes was that hollow look, the one he had whenever he thought of Azkaban. Behind him, Remus Lupin in his usual shabby jacket closed the door quietly.

"Sorry to interrupt your dinner date, Harry." Sirius smoothed down the front of his clothes and patted his knuckles against his thighs in a habit that his godson readily recognized as Sirius' gloominess. "I'm afraid I have some very bad news. Theo, could you wait—"

"Whatever it is," Harry interrupted, "He can hear it with me."

Running a hand down the front of his robes again, Sirius conjured a chair and sat upon it. "Your—how should I…" His godfather took a deep breath. "Remus. I can't."

Harry's once-teacher nodded. "It's about your Muggle relatives…"

"The Dursleys?" Harry hadn't really thought of them since his second year at Hogwarts. "What about them?"

"They were attacked," Lupin said gently.

His skin turning ashen, Sirius took in another deep breath. "By dementors," he croaked out.

"Dementors?" Harry got up from his chair so fast that it was knocked to the floor. "Dementors in Little Whinging?" Harry knew. He positively knew what had happened. His hands were trembling. "Did they... Was someone able to repel the dementors?"

Sirius swallowed, dropping his head forward until his hair covered his face. "I'm sorry. They're…"

Lupin stepped forward, squeezing Sirius' shoulder when he could say no more.

The silence was so thick that Harry's ears were ringing. He knew that no one could have been around with his godfather looking as ill as he did.

"The souls of those in the house were gone, Harry," Lupin said quietly. "Even the dog's."

Harry responded weakly, "Dog?" His heart was hammering and the smell of burning potion came to him. His eyes aimlessly scanned the room as his breaths came more quickly. He tried to break the panic's hold before he succumbed to it by remaining present and aware no matter how terrifying it seemed. Someone noisily righted Harry's chair, breaking the memory's hold on him. Theodore guided him to sit down in it. Harry's knees seemed to be the main culprit of his tremors. "But the Dursleys don't own a dog. At least they didn't when I—" Harry realized quickly who else might have died. "Aunt Marge?"

Sirius nodded.

"Your mother's sister is in St. Mungo's," Lupin said. "And your cousin—"

"She's not dead?" Harry said, horrified. To be soulless yet alive was a prospect he had not imagined. How could that happen?

"It… well, in a way. The specialists don't know why. Like the bodies of wizards and witches, the bodies of Squibs can keep living after their soul is removed. It isn't common, but it's known to happen."

Harry stared at Lupin. His brain wasn't working properly. He thought he'd just heard that Aunt Petunia had been a Squib. If so, then—

"You didn't know, did you?" Theodore whispered beside him. "That Blood Wards don't work with Muggles."

Shivering, Harry found that he was having difficulty breathing. Everything was cold. "Why?" He shook his head in disbelief. "Why would there be dementors in Little Whinging?"

"We don't know," Lupin said. "There wasn't any Death Eater activity around the Dursleys and Arabella Figg said—"

"Why would you know her?" Harry was reeling even though it hadn't yet sunk in that his closest living relatives had been murdered. All he had left was a Great-Aunt and innumerable distant cousins.

"She was placed in the Muggle neighborhood to keep an eye on you when you were growing up," Sirius said, sounding strained. "Fat lot it did you."

"But she… I never saw her cast magic."

"She's a Squib, Harry," Lupin said, "The Ministry wouldn't allow a witch or wizard to move into a Muggle-only sanctioned zone. And if she hadn't been there, we wouldn't have known about the dementor attack as quickly and summoned Aurors and Obliviators to contain the Muggle law-keepers and medics who had been called by your cousin." When Harry made a strangled noise, Lupin nodded. "Yes, your cousin Dudley is the only survivor. He had stumbled on the scene when he came home later than normal and rung out for help when none of them were responsive."

Fear sunk into Harry's gut as he imagined the shock of walking into a room of your loved ones doing their best imitation of a screaming corpse.

"He doesn't have to live here," Sirius cut through Harry's racing thoughts.

Harry drew in a deep breath, torn. A part of him wanted nothing to do with his nasty cousin. Then again, four years is a long time to be away and Dudley wouldn't remember him. The Court Obliviators had made certain of that when Harry was removed from the Dursley home. Harry flattened his lips. "He's the closest family I have left. Don't take that from me."

Wearily, Sirius nodded and ran a hand through his hair. "I had a feeling you might say that. He's at St. Mungo's until they clear him."

So many things coursed through Harry's mind that he couldn't focus on any one of them. "How did the Death Eaters find them? Didn't the Ministry think it was important to protect them?"

Both adults had a momentary flash of guilt. "The current Ministry is in the habit of a clean break when dealing with Squibs who have broken the law and ignorant Muggles. After their Obliviation, the Dursleys were relocated to a new home in a neighboring town as a security precaution, but they quickly moved back to Little Whinging despite the Ministry's best efforts to stop them…"

Theodore made a noise of disgust. "If a mole in the Ministry didn't ferret it out, anyone who read Harry's biography knew that his uncle worked at a manufacturing company that specialized in drills. It wouldn't be difficult to hunt them down from that information alone."

"Why now?" Harry said, his tight voice cutting. "Why kill them now instead of right after the tournament? If he has control over Dementors and it was easy to pop them over there…" Harry clenched his hand into a fist. "What was the point in waiting?"

With a grave expression, Lupin opened his coat and pulled out a blood-red envelope. "Dumbledore was hoping you could tell us."

The envelope had already been opened. Harry could see that much. He pulled out the thick bone-white card and dropped it on the table when his skin crawled with the sensation of a charm activating. As he stared at it, he realized the paper was the precise shade of Voldemort's skin. On it was a very accurate rendering of the Dark Mark complete with an animated snake whose tongue flicked out, tasting.

Below the symbol, a message was appearing, faint at first but growing darker. In crisp slanted lines of dried blood was written,

 ** _Happy Birthday, Harry._**

"No," Harry snarled lowly. His vision wobbled in front of him, thick with rage.

His scar burned and then all went black.


	2. When the Storm Breaks

When he came to, Harry was standing with his wand pressed against the aged Mr. Nott's throat, breathing raggedly.

Blinking multiple times, Harry glanced around and saw that Theodore was lying in a stiff-board manner against the wall at an uncomfortable angle, while Lupin and Sirius were immobilized in awkward positions as if they had wands in their outstretched hands. Gertie, who hadn't been there a few seconds ago, was lying facedown on the ground, probably unconscious not dead, while nervously Rigel peeked around the doorframe into the drawing room with a brown wand clutched tightly in a fist.

Harry was suddenly aware that he held five wands in the shaking grasp of his right hand.

 _What happened?_ His mind was in disarray as it skittered around in confusion. When had he gone from standing by the table to threatening his best friend's Da? Hadn't the wizard left earlier?

"Harry, are you with us now?" came the rough, aged voice of Prah Bailey Nott.

The teen stepped back unsteadily, stiffly pulling the yew wand away from the old man's throat. "Bloody hell…" whispered Harry. He glanced towards his frozen godfather and Lupin before his eyes skittered across the form of his best friend and his Hufflepuff cousin. "Did I…?" He jerked towards Gertie worried about her, but Rigel darted out in front of her with his wand out.

"You stay away from her," Rigel said softly, his eyes wide and partially hidden behind his hair.

"I…" Harry's word faltered. He knew full well that he'd warned no one about his bouts of rage and had effectively sworn Theodore to secrecy. "I'm sorry."

"You're _sorry_? Does that apology fix how mental you've—"

Stepping forward, Mr. Nott waved a hand cutting the coming diatribe off. "Harry is within control of himself now. It's more important for him to know what happened."

Harry swallowed down the burning sensation in his throat, his tongue heavy and sluggish.

"This standoff began when you attacked your godfather," Mr. Nott said calmly, his kind eyes flinty with suspicion. When Harry's eyes were guiltily drawn to Gertie's still form, the old wizard continued, "Nothing lethal came of it, thankfully."

Relief flooded through Harry. When the purring yew wand continued to itch in his hand like a living thing, his aching fingers released it and it clattered to the ground. He could sense how urgently it wanted to be used against someone and he took a deep breath.

At the sound of the clattering wand, Rigel started, but he didn't lower his wand. Only when Harry dropped the other wands onto the ground did the Ravenclaw relax minutely.

The clock on the wall read that less than a quarter of an hour had elapsed. Harry shifted on broken pieces of glass as he looked once more at the chaos around him. Someone had thrown glasses and dishes everywhere, and deep in his gut he knew he was responsible.

The shivering was growing worse. Harry didn't want to believe that he could no longer contain the menace within him. "It's _freezing_ ," He mumbled, brain numbing out the possible repercussions. His breath should have been coming out in white puffs, but wasn't. It wasn't a cold caused by dementors. Unable to gain his bearings, he looked at his surroundings again in a disoriented manner as if by looking it might change the situation. There were little bits of grey-white parchment on the blackwood floor, possibly the card that had induced such rage to make leave of his senses.

He compulsively connected the details of the earlier conversation as he attempted to regain his composure. Petunia, Vernon, and Marge Dursley were dead. Gone forever.

"They're dead," Harry repeated aloud hollowly. In the answering silence, he took a deep breath trying to banish the panic gripping his chest. He had been too much of a coward to warn his godfather about the soul-shard and how it would take him over.

His hands trembled, the image of the disturbing birthday card from the Dark Lord flashing in his mind. Rage had swallowed him so completely, so effortlessly...

A pale face with pitiless scarlet eyes swam into his head. Sludgy anger tightened his fingers into fists. _Voldemort's wand._ _Could it have affected me?_ He forced his eyes to look at the cursed thing on the ground as he stepped away from it.

"What did the letter say?"

Harry's head whipped up to focus on Rigel. The look he received was intense and his eyes drifted towards Sirius and Lupin. He hadn't the courage to look into Sirius' eyes, but Lupin's black ones glittered with keen interest. It reminded Harry of someone he hated, someone who must have orchestrated to tear all living connections to family away from him. He was afraid and he hated it.

" _He_ set them up _!_ " Harry bellowed out the irrational accusation, trying not to let the burning anger rule his thoughts. He flexed his fingers but it didn't warm them. Mad giggling echoed from behind, but Harry knew better than to see if someone was behind him.

"Who?"

Harry bit his lip. In the darkest corners of his mind, Harry had once entertained the thought of being rid of his nasty relatives who hated him. Voldemort had simply mined it from him.

No longer able to bear the cold or the stony gazes, he went to the heavy curtains and ripped them back. The warm beams of early evening sunlight didn't touch the cold.

 _Soon **,**_ it had crooned, _soon not even you will know the difference_. Anger flooded through him.

"Harry, who set them up?

The rage was scrambling his thoughts, and he ground his jaw down trying to summon warmth into him. **_You will disappear and your weakness with it_** , the thought hissed ** _._**

"Shut up," Harry whispered harshly. Refusing to give in, he viciously shoved open the window to lean out. He strained his ears, trying to take in the heat that was absent from him.

 ** _Why do you deny the power we could hold together? Don't you want him to hurt for what he's done?_**

That was when he heard them. The cicadas, the pulse of summertime. Listening, Harry closed his eyes; the soul-shard became an annoying buzz rather than the voice breathing down his neck. _Sod off,_ Harry growled as he pulled the heat to himself.

Darkness momentarily banished, he slowly slumped to the floor with a hand on the hot window-frame. Pressing his throbbing forehead against the cool inner windowsill he let out a punctuated sob. Unbidden, the tears ran fast and cold down his cheeks when it felt like his chest would crack open from the pressure of holding them back. He hated that he could not contain them as he hunched forward, trying to hide the obvious. He was disgusted by himself.

"Harry…" Theodore softly said beside him.

He flinched as if struck by the sound of his name uttered. He pulled his collar up and wiped his face clean as he could manage. He took several steadying breaths. Emptiness felt better than this humiliation. He focused on the Occlumency he learned the year prior to help.

"The contents of the letter are important for us to know."

Harry's mind cleared slowly. Obviously, Theo's da must have collected their wands if his friend was standing beside him now, having nullified the spells cast on them. "Dementors sucked their souls out… murdered them," he choked out. "The Dursleys didn't do anything to deserve that." The drone of insects pushed his nausea down as he remembered the terrible moment when he thought he would lose Sirius to the evil creatures. "No one deserves that."

Harry rubbed his raw eyes, turning a dark look at his cousin, Rigel, still waiting for an answer. Remus and Sirius hovered nearest to Harry, while Gertie hung back with Mr. Nott.

"Voldemort _murdered_ them," Harry whispered, hate filling his tone. The cold creeped in again, and Voldemort's wand sang of vengeance and violence from where it lay abandoned a few feet away. "… for a _birthday present._ He wished me a _happy birthday."_ He was trembling again as if he had a terrible fever, and he wrapped both arms around himself. The cicadas grew louder, while he took a deep breath of the crisp, dusty summer air and then took another one. "That's what it said: _Happy Birthday, Harry."_

Theodore grasped his shoulder gently. "He's a sick bugger, no doubt," he muttered.

"I hated them so much…" Harry gagged on the words rolling off his tongue. "But I never hurt them, not even when things were bad. I could have… so many times. In so many ways, I thought about it… imagined putting rat poison in their food and watching as they realized it—thought about cutting the brake lines—"

"If you're suggesting you're at fault for this, I have to stop you there," his best mate warned softly. "You chose not to hurt them. Not even once. Not even if it was deserved."

An animalistic noise escaped Harry's throat as he lost control of his emotions. His heart raced and he sucked down air. Guilt carved his chest raw. "They wouldn't be dead if I had kept Voldemort out of my mind properly!"

Harry whipped his head up to look for confirmation from the adults, but saw that he and Theodore were now alone. They had likely left and silently shooed his cousins out when Harry revealed what the card said. The lack of audience let the tension uncoil from his shoulders.

Sensing that release, Theodore's hand rubbed across them twice and squeezed once more. Harry was so grateful for his presence, and the last of the sticky rage vanished.

"I know you feel like it's your fault, mate," his friend breathed out quietly, "But it's not. He's playing head games with you, trying to get you to snap apart. None of this is your fault, and you know it."

Drained, Harry rested his head back on the sill. "I should have told them... warned them about me," he whispered. Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes, the shadow of his friend being the last image before he fell into an exhausted sleep.

 _"Your mind is so open…" Voldemort sighed with pleasure as he looked up at Harry's scar and then smiled again in a manner that might have been pleasant if he had a nose.— "There's so much bitterness at the Dursleys… so much anger over the court judgment after they mistreated you. Surely, you could ask me to slaughter those Muggles? It would hardly be any trouble, Harry, to arrange it."—A hundred dementors were closing in on Harry beside the dark lake;_ _And one of them came forward, lowering its hood with its rotting hands. There were no eyes. The nose was rotted. The mouth had no lips, only a shapeless hole, sucking at his happiness with a deep evil rattle. " **We will eat their souls and think of you** ," the demonic voice whispered like a caress—_

Harry woke without noise, gummy eyes opening in the dimly lit room. After rubbing to clear them of gunk, he stared at the familiar wall across from his bed and the stream of moonlight ghosting across the floor. The last thing he remembered was the news that his relatives had been attacked by Dementors, the sudden awareness of pressing a yew wand against an adult's throat, and dozing off on a window sill.

He shivered as he sat up, realizing he was extremely chilled even though he had several thick blankets and nightclothes on. He wondered if he would ever be rid of the cold.

"Hey," Theodore whispered from a dark corner.

Harry jerked his eyes to that space, the unnatural glow of his friend's eyes alerting him to Theodore's presence. "I don't—I opened the letter and then… I don't know…" Slight tremors thrummed through his body and he drew the blankets around him to stop the encroaching cold but to little effect. "It was like the time when I cursed the chalk," Harry quietly admitted.

"Ah. So you don't remember what happened."

Harry shook his head.

"I think you'd prefer to watch what happened than to hear it from me." Theodore pushed off the chair he was in and grabbed what looked to be a large silver dish off the dresser. "Da lent it to me. Said you might have memory discrepancies by how confused you looked." He let it go, and the shallow dish floated until it rested in a space over Harry's legs.

Harry sat up, shivering more as the blankets fell away, and peered down into the shallow bowl. There was some sort of clear fluid already in it. It looked very different from the carved basin Harry had used in Dumbledore's office. "It's a Pensieve, isn't it?"

Theodore perched on the edge of the bed. "Yeah…" His friend pressed his wand against his temple and pulled a thick, white strand of ectoplasm from it. He flicked it off his wand above the Pensieve, and it floated gently into the bowl. Once it touched the liquid, the memory let off a light, and a quick succession of images flashed through before settling at the bottom of the bowl.

Harry gazed down at the contents of the Pensieve, which looked very silvery. When he leaned closer, it seemed as if he were peering down into the dining parlor from a very high place. It had the right shape to it, but Harry couldn't see much without his glasses on.

Absolutely blind, Harry reached over to the chest of drawers by the bed, but his glasses were missing from the surface. He opened the drawer and slid his hand along the bottom.

"They're… no, the other one. Left side."

Finally grabbing hold of them, Harry shoved them onto his nose. Curious, he leaned over the shimmery fluid within the Pensieve. He could see the top of his head sitting at the table in the dining parlor. On the table in front of him was Voldemort's note. Taking a breath, he dipped his face into the strange substance and the bed lurched around him. He was thrown headfirst into the bowl, which looked even shallower than the one in Dumbledore's office. As soon as he fell through, he found himself standing next to Theodore, whose gaze was affixed beyond him. Sirius and Lupin did not see him either… and then he saw himself sitting at the dining table staring shakily at the delivered note from Voldemort.

Harry could see that the snake in the Dark Mark was flicking its tongue, but the message he was expecting did not appear. " _No_ …" His other self growled.

"Well? What does it say?"

Harry watched himself take the card and tear it into halves and then those into halves again and again and again. Each time he'd ripped it he made a progressively angrier noise. The resulting confetti was thrown at the ground. The other Harry stood up so violently that, in addition to the chair, the table was lifted with him, spilling the glasses over.

Cold water sloshed down the front of Sirius' trousers, and now he was on his feet now too. "Harry—"

And then Harry began to scream, throwing an arm across the table to knock off all the dishware. With disturbed fascination, Harry watched as his doppelganger grabbed the vase and chucked it at the opposite wall, howling with fury.

Sirius was frozen with a look crossed between worry and anger, his hand stuck halfway to drawing his wand.

"Harry," came Lupin's gentling voice and reached out to calm Harry. "Getting upset—"

"Don't touch me, you filthy creature!" A strange voice roared out from his lips, slapping Lupin's hand away.

The adult werewolf flinched back, while Sirius yelled furiously, "Harry! Stop your outburst."

"Don't pretend to understand!" Harry snarled wrathfully. "You haven't a Dark Mark on you! You're not tainted by a madman!"

The two Marauders stared blankly at Harry. Sirius' eyes roved over Harry's bared arms. "Harry, please, calm down."

Theodore had already drawn his wand and had it pointed at Harry's back. He looked unhappily determined. "I recommend you draw wands. Harry's not himself."

"Not himself?" Lupin asked sharply, hand moving to the pocket which held his battered, loyal wand.

"What do you mean?" Sirius snapped at Theodore with such severity it made the Harry-that-was-watching wince. "What—"

"You aren't the only one with a few marbles lost!" His best mate sidestepped a fork thrown at him.

With a furious cry, Harry tossed his chair over the table, but the three ducked as it sailed into the wall. " _I hate him_! I HATE HIM. _I. HATE. **HIM**_!" A violent wind was ripping the paintings and tapestries down. The chandelier above them was creaking dangerously.

"Oh shite," Theodore muttered, as he backed out from under the chandelier. Behind him, something quite invisible gashed several enormous lines straight across the wallpaper and into the crumbling wall beneath. His jaw tensed as if waiting to be torn to shred, and then the door banged open next to him.

Knowing that everyone made it through alright, Harry-that-was-watching stared in amazement at the chaotic show of accidental magic. Wasn't he too old for that?

"What's all this noise about?" Gertrude asked crossly, when she was promptly hit by a soaring saltshaker. "Ow! What the bleeding—"

" _Stupefy!_ " Lupin and Sirius said as one.

The hand holding the yew wand lifted and with a dainty flick deflected the Stunning Spells. Harry couldn't squelch the surge of envy at the easy nonverbal shield. Rebounded, the spells struck Gertrude and she toppled over unconscious. A deep, throaty rasp of a giggle sent a shiver of terror through those on tenterhooks watching the teen in shock. The air rippled with magic as the crooked wand silently swiped the air again. Two of the three wizards were frozen in place.

A raised finger crooked with a murmured Summoning spell and the wands of his godfather and Lupin flew towards him from the immobilized figures. He slowly turned towards Theodore, who took a half-step back. A red jet of light flew from Theodore's wand, which was deflected, and then another charm was spelled back. Theodore's legs and arms locked to his body and he fell backwards to the ground. He landed against the wall, leaned at a strange angle. Another murmur and beckoning gesture also summoned Theodore's wand to his hand.

The door slammed open and a spell jetted towards the Harry-that-was-watching. Out of habit, he jumped out of the way, only to realize that a memory like this couldn't hurt him. Behind him, the spell was deflected with ease. Raspy, mad laughter echoed in the room. Despite the shiver running down his back, he couldn't stem the surge of envy at the soulshard's dueling skills.

Mr. Nott had his wand raised and easily blocked the nonverbal Freezing Charm sent his way. "What are you doing, Harry?"

Harry was never more disturbed than when he saw himself _prance_ with loose, swinging arms towards Mr. Nott. The old wizened man appeared terrified at the strange movements and backpedaled so fast that he very nearly ran into the wall behind him. The soul-shard peered up at the old man with a thoughtful frown and then pulled his wand from slack fingers.

Mr. Nott swallowed convulsively, his eyes wide with disbelief. It was evident that the aged wizard recognized that the soul-shard was in control.

A loud mad cackle filled the room, Voldemort's wand was pressed against the soft, vulnerable throat, and in a chillingly raspy voice the soul-shard said, "Surely, Prah Bailey, you did not believe Harry was given this wand out of the kindness of the Dark Lord's heart?"

The wand was pressed deeper into the wrinkled, spotty neck above his pulse, and Theodore's da looked at the ceiling to bare his throat obediently. Harry felt sick at the sight.

A wave seemed to go through Harry's body then, and then tension, incredible tension and anger returned. Harry saw himself look around with disorientation as if the destruction and madness surrounding them was unexpected and then look at the others and down at the wands in his hand.

Harry saw a rush of relief pull over Mr. Nott's face. "Harry, are you with us now?" The old wizard asked in a tone roughened with relief—Everything began to dissolve into mist and suddenly Harry felt like he was rising up into the air out of the dining parlor. Then, as though he'd done a slow-motion somersault, he landed back into the bed next to Theodore.

" _He **possessed** me_?" Harry's knuckles were white as they pulled the blankets around him.

"If you mean the Dark Lord, no. Were it him in charge of your body he would not have been so lenient in the heart of enemy territory." Theodore took a deep breath. "Had it been him we would have been slaughtered without mercy and afterwards he would have brought your body to his current whereabouts." He dipped his wand into the Pensieve, and the strand of white memory stuck to the end of it. He pressed it against his head, and it slipped right in. "The bit of him lodged in your head could explain the relative kindness we were treated even taken off guard and outmatched."

So, Harry's worst nightmare truly had come alive. "Is your Da alright?"

"Yeah, mate. He's fine. You gave all of us a serious case of the willies." Theodore shuddered as he placed the Pensieve back on the dresser. "He told me that it's likely you'll lose control again. That its influence may only increase the older you get."

"Bugger," Harry muttered.

"So, I have permission to tell you only this much. My Da and I have joined the Order of the Phoenix, led by Dumbledore. It's basically an organization that conglomerated a bunch of anti-Dark Lord factions together. It was started the last time the Dark Lord was in power."

"I see," Harry said neutrally. Hermione's information had proved sound. "And I don't even get a chance to put my name down to help the cause."

"Right. Not unless you devise a way to stop it from taking you over." There was a moment when neither of them spoke. Theodore looked a little pained. They already knew that Occlumency seemed to ameliorate Harry's condition but was temporary at best. "Advanced exorcism techniques won't work if it chose to reveal itself to the Order members closest to Dumbledore. Da said that there's nothing we can do… if we want to keep you alive."

Harry let out a shaky sigh. "Nothing?"

Bathed in moonlight, Theodore scrubbed his scalp, shifting from foot to foot. "I hadn't told him anything before. Last night I told them everything: Da, Remus, and Mr. Black. The visions, your black-outs, the secret to your old scar."

Harry's stomach clenched. "And?"

"Da told me that splitting your soul is one of the foulest, most forbidden acts of Dark magic you can perform. Only true remorse can bring the pieces together. Otherwise, the vessels that contain the soul-bits are nigh indestructible, and the owner of said soul is near-impossible to eliminate." Theodore met his gaze with a look of disappointment. "Sorry I don't have better news."

A leaden sensation was settling in the pit of Harry's stomach. He knew Voldemort was too far beyond remorse for that path to be an option and that indestructability had been the end-goal. The madman had clearly announced the latter to his loyal servants. "What if I lose control at Hogwarts?"

"We'll figure something out," Theodore promised. He lightly patted Harry's shoulder and then lifted the Glaxxes off his face, folding them and placing them on the chest of drawers. "Why don't you try to rest?"

"But—"

"Da is downstairs should you lose your sense of self again. He's not as great as Dumbledore himself, but he's a Merlin-class Warlock. Top notch at martial magic. He was taken off-guard before, but he'll be prepared for it this time."

Harry opened his eyes at a sudden thought. "I broke the Statute on the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Magic," came the stunned reply. "I mean, I can't _say_ 'Sorry, wasn't my fault, a bit of Voldemort took me over' now can I? Most of the Wizarding World doesn't even believe that he's back!"

Settling in next to him, Theodore exhaled softly. "I asked about that and your godfather said the Underage Monitoring Charms in place aren't to prevent _you_ from using magic. They're for Gertie and Rigel. Apparently, Sirius already won that case before a full panel of Wizengamot judges when he sought to gain full responsibility of you. Due to winning the Quadwizard Tournament, your MVS has fully matured and by law they can't prevent you from using magic. Doesn't mean you can live on your own since you have to be of age for that. Better than nothing, eh?"

Sirius had conveniently forgotten to mention that to Harry. Perhaps he assumed Harry had known he could use magic?

His friend tucked the blankets up to Harry's chin and patted his chest. "Get some sleep. We can talk about this more in the morning."

"Theo?" He whispered stopping Theodore's steps back to the chair.

"Yah?"

"Thanks for being my friend." _For not being afraid of me_.

Theodore's warm chuckle broke the sudden silence following Harry's words. "Don't thank me. I'm lucky to call you my friend."

It took a while for sleep to claim him, and when it did he slept uncomfortably, shivering under the covers.

He dreamed of his testimony to a full Wizengamot court, months ago.

Snape was secured to a central chair with glowing chains, his eyes closed as if he was sleeping upright. He never answered any of the questions directed to him. The headmaster even offered testimony of his rehabilitation on the git's behalf and how he had returned to provide information about the resurrection of Voldemort.

"Surely he would know the names of those who escaped, and yet he refuses to speak them!"

"Severus is stubborn, but he is not without honor," Dumbledore replied. "Then again, telling you their names won't win him any lenience, will it?"

With a red face of fury, Minister Fudge called for an immediate vote of conviction and nearly every hand went up. There weren't enough hands down to clear Snape of even some of the charges. Joy rose within Harry because it meant he would finally be punished for siding with Voldemort again.

"Severus Snape, you are henceforth found guilty of all charges and will remain in Azkaban for the remainder of your natural life."

Only then did the Potions Master's eyes slit open, just barely. He had turned to look at Harry, completely ignoring whatever else Fudge had to say.

It was neither a look of loathing or agony. "By your leave, _Chosen One,"_ he sneered, but his expression showed neither defeat nor wrath. Though weighed down by even more chains at the conviction, a weight seemed to have left his shoulders as if liberated by an even greater burden.

Harry had been left feeling unsettled even after the Aurors had led the tattered-robed figure away. Azkaban was full of dementors, creatures that thrived on misery and despair. How could Snape be so calm in the face of that?

* * *

Dudley moved in with much more grace than Harry ever remembered of him. At first sight, Harry almost didn't recognize him. Despite his massive presence he was less fat and much more solid in frame as if he had been put on a diet that actually worked and exercised more regularly than Harry. Gone were the impish grin and eyes filled with dark mischief. In its place was a familiar expression tight with new grief.

His blond cousin adjusted the battered gym bag hanging from a solitary strap before he thrust his hand at Harry and introduced himself gruffly. "Dudley Dursley. Mr. Black said I had you to thank for letting me stay."

"Harry Potter," the Slytherin said dryly, taking the hand briefly for a shake. He gestured to his friend hovering over his shoulder. "This is Theodore Nott, my best mate. We go to the same boarding school."

"Hello," his tall friend said, wiggling fingers at Dudley.

Dudley seemed to squirm in the silence as his eyes darted to Sirius who had poured himself a stiff drink at the kitchen table. Harry wondered what Sirius had said to him on their trip to Grimmauld Place. "M—Mum never talked about her side much."

"I'm not surprised. Aunt Petunia never did like me or my parents," Harry concurred. When Dudley stiffened at Sirius' snort, Harry frowned and then followed Theodore's lead to walk out the kitchen. "Let me show you our room. We'll be sharing since your arrival was on short notice, but you can have your own once the other bedrooms are more thoroughly checked for Dark artifacts."

Letting them lead, Dudley nodded while his meaty hand clenched around the strap hanging from his shoulder. His eyes traveled over the strangeness of the place, particularly the lit candles. Happily, the house-elf heads had been squirreled away by Dobby not long after they had entered the kitchen. Dudley's eyes skittered over where they had been before. He inched by the curtains covering the portrait of Mrs. Black, probably wary because of the snores erupting from behind them.

"You'll meet my third cousins, Gertie and Rigel, later. Though they're not very good at conversations," Harry whispered.

"Understatement of the year," Theodore snorted.

Dudley sent them a curious look, looking over his shoulder at the hanging curtains that billowed forth and sucked back in with regularity. The question teetering on his lips was palpable.

"Best not to talk too loudly in the corridor or you'll wake that painting. She's awful," Harry said lowly.

Dudley hung back quietly, or as quiet he could be on stairs that creaked under his feet. He honestly was nothing what Harry had expected. He was quiet and polite, almost to the point of timidness.

Harry pushed open the door to their room, which was very spacious. Once they entered, he shut it behind them. On one side was a large full size bed bedecked in Slytherin colors. The other held a small bed bedecked with dull grey blankets and pillows.

"Your side," Harry said, gesturing to the smaller bed and empty blackwood wardrobe. The Dark Arts books had been moved into a large, metal-banded trunk that Dobby had happily supplied and was currently locked tight next to Harry's writing desk. Theodore had a curious expression as he looked between the two beds. Harry thought it was odd that the bed was so small for someone as large as his cousin.

Dudley inspected it all, setting down his bag and sat on the bed, which let out an evil groan. He hopped back to his feet and sent a distrustful look at it.

"I can fix it up, if you'd like." It was a bit of a relief actually to know that he could use magic at home.

"Wasn't your wand confiscated?" Theodore raised an eyebrow at Harry.

He deflated, suppressing the shudder down his spine. "Right," the Slytherin mumbled. He had willingly given it to Sirius no longer trusting himself to remain in a sane state.

"I'll manage. It's… homey," Dudley lied. He looked very uncomfortable. "There's no telly or computers?"

"Magic is incompatible with most technology."

"Incompatible? Hah! He means magic fries most Muggle hardware. Poof!" Theodore exclaimed with hands outspread.

Harry shifted, gesturing to the bed. "It won't take but a moment to fix it up."

"Going to perform it windlessly?" Theodore teased.

Harry retorted, "Don't be an arse. You know I don't have that kind of control." He turned to an empty spot. "Dobby!"

The house-elf appeared there with a crack, causing Dudley to jump in fright. Dobby's wide, over-large eyes googled at Dudley and then returned to Harry. "What is Master Harry needing from me?"

He simply pointed at the bed.

"Oh, that bed was meant for Master Harry's cousin!" Dobby grabbed his ears with distress. "Master Black told Kreacher to do it even when I volunteered, but no, Master Black wanted Kreacher to do it. Kreacher is a nasty elf, sir! Kreacher hates Muggles, sir! I don't mind them at all Not the ones who can't use magic or were borne from them with magic, sir."

Harry scowled. "Why would Sirius ask Kreacher?"

Theodore sighed heavily with a shake of his head as if the answer were obvious. His friend placed a hand on a hip, sauntering over to Dudley who was inspecting the connected bathroom. "Oi, did you want it fixed up or not?"

Startling, Dudley seemed to snap away from a nervous inspection of the facilities. "If you'd like," he said in a blustery way that reminded Harry of the late Uncle Vernon.

"Well, how do you like it?" Theodore prodded. "Firm or soft?"

"Firm. Mum—" Dudley sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly as he looked away and his face reddened. His fingers gripped the strap of his bag. "Realized the soft bedding hurt my back and made me lose sleep."

"As Master Dursley wishes!" With a snap of Dobby's fingers, the bed lengthened and widened, the mattress firming up. "Would Master Dursley like any other changes?"

"Um. The name's Dudley," his cousin stammered as he stared blankly at the house-elf, eyes glazing over as if he wasn't sure if he was looking at a small person or a talking animal. "What are you?"

"A house-elf, sir." Dobby grinned and the smile stretched across his overlarge head. "Dobby's the name. I freely serve your cousin, Master Harry, ever since he freed Dobby from nasty, thankless masters."

Harry's cousin was struck dumb by the magical creature and stared at him with a gawping expression.

"He could change the color of the covers, if you'd like," Harry said with a chuckle. "Do you still go to Smeltings?"

"Er… yeah." His cousin gazed at him with an intensely curious expression. On Dudley, it looked unnatural. At least, to the memory Harry had of him. "How did you know that? Mr. Black didn't even recognize the school."

Harry's first impulse was to lie, but he knew it wouldn't be worth it in the long-run, not if he wanted to befriend Dudley. "Because we lived together for a while. Your mum and dad had taken me in when no one else did after my parents were murdered. I know Smeltings was your… dad's alma mater."

Now Dudley's face was screwed up in deep concentration. "Sorry. I don't remember. Was I young when you were brought in?"

"Yes." Harry grimaced, deciding not to correct Dudley yet, certainly not before he grew more familiar with magic. "Make it orange and maroon, Dobby. Do you know what the Smeltings Academy insignia looks like?"

"Indeed, Master Harry." With another snap, the thin blanket was transformed from an ugly grey to a thick duvet with the familiar color of Dudley's old knickerbockers and tailcoat. "Anything else, Master Dudley?"

Dudley's eyes were the size of saucers as he carefully touched the duvet that was obviously stuffed with down feathers. "Er… I dunno."

"What's in the bag?" Theodore asked.

"Some boxing gloves and protective headgear," Dudley answered as he set the bag down next to his feet, eyeing the bed with disbelief bordering awe. "Can… can all of you do this?"

Theodore sent a curious look to Harry, mouthing the word 'Boxing?' at him while miming a cardboard box. Harry twitched his head to the side in a negative. As much as Theodore seemed to know about the Muggle side of things, Harry sometimes forgot that he didn't grow up with it.

"More or less," Harry said.

"Wizard magic is a bit different than an elf's," Dobby said with a slight chiding tone. "It takes many years for a wizard to perform similar magic as easily."

"He has your Transfiguration capability pegged, Harry," said Theodore with a laugh.

"And you're not so great at Charms, Theo."

"You're only so good at Charms because it's an Illume Art."

"You say that because you're jealous."

"Am not!"

"Are too!"

As they bickered, Dudley ran callused fingers over the soft orange and maroon patches of the duvet. "Thanks," he whispered to the house-elf as he sat onto the bed.

Dobby beamed and rocked on his heels and back onto his tiptoes. "Perhaps Master Dudley would like a place to use his equipment?"

"Could I…" Dudley seemed to be struggling for words. "Could I have that?"

"Certainly!" Dobby clapped his hands together and the little used corner of the bedroom was transformed from a decorative display of busts and paintings to a setting that wouldn't have been out of place in a training gym.

There was the usual vertical heavy bag hanging from the ceiling, but also one hanging horizontal to the ground. Tacked on the wall, there were several skipping ropes with various sized grips, a vest, an R-shaped contraption with a spring and a handle, and a hooded suit made of grey and orange baggy material. On the floor was a singular wheel with handles sticking out of it, a pair of boxing shoes, and a slim post grounded with a wide base and topped with a cylindrical bag. A little ways off was another stand with a disk-shaped platform with a tear-drop shaped bag and a spherical one connected at the top and bottom and various balls made of plastic or rubber with logos stamped upon them. A thick, padded floor mat covered the floor beneath the gear.

Dudley jumped out of bed to touch and gape at the boxing gear.

"If there is nothing else, I must work on supper! Mustn't be late."

"Uh… thank you." Dudley's eyes were bright and his face was flushed with excitement. "I mean it. No one's—not even… Thanks."

"You're welcome, Master Dudley!" With another crack, the house-elf disappeared.

Harry wondered at how humble Dudley had grown apart from him as his cousin reverently touched the brand-new equipment. Perhaps Harry's aunt and uncle had over-spoiled Dudley to counteract their guilt about all the horrible things that they put Harry through 'for his own good'. Now, that question would now never be answered.

"You're really taking things in stride," Theodore commented lightly, bouncing on the springy mat.

"I don't have anywhere else to go. 'Sides an orphanage. And they called me something at the magic hospital," Dudley muttered, looking uncomfortable. "A Skweeb? It's why they let your godfather foster me."

A tense silence followed that pronouncement before Harry mustered up the courage to say, "…You know, if this is too odd for you, I'm sure they could find someone to take you in." He added hastily, "Somewhere non-magical. You'd have computers and the telly and video games."

"Are you joking? I love it here!" The words burst out of Dudley's mouth and then a fearful look crossed his face. "It's… different, yes. But normally you'd have to be loaded to get this equipment." Dudley stared at the setup again and then shook his head. "No. I chose to be here, not only because of magic. None of those magic policemen or witch doctors would tell me why my dad and auntie were killed by these Dementier things." Dudley's small eyes fell on them full of doubt and suspicion. "I got a hunch that I'd be offed if I don't stay right where I am."

Harry's mood plummeted further. Exactly how little had Dudley been told? Of the dementors' soul sucking ability? Of Voldemort's hand in this? Probably nothing at all, judging by the present view the Ministry held of the Dark Lord's return.

"Well, he's not wrong," Theodore stated to Harry. "You can't get much safer than here."

Dudley asked gruffly, "So, someone _is_ trying to kill me. Why?"

"What did they tell you?" Harry inquired, trying to gain his footing.

"The only thing they said was that you were famous and that the murders may be linked to that." Dudley heaved a sigh. "I don't get it. If you're famous and all, why have I never heard of you before?"

"Er. I'm famous among wizards and witches. They call me the Boy-Who-Lived since I survived the Killing Curse when I was young."

Stepping away from the hanging heavy bag, Dudley's eyelids pulled back making his eyes look extremely wide. "Killing Curse? You can magic someone dead?"

"It's an Unforgivable," Theodore said when Harry floundered to say something that wasn't awful. "Decent Wizarding-folk would never even think about using such a foul spell. You get life in Azkaban; it's a prison in the middle of the sea for wicked wizards and witches with those 'dementiers' to keep them good and cowed in their cells."

The large teen visibly shuddered. "If they're prison guards, what business did they have being at my house? How did they kill—" He clasped a hand over his face and shook his head. "I don't want to know how. I want to know _why_. _Why_ ," his voice cracked. "My dad and auntie didn't deserve to die. And my mum's stuck in a coma that they say she won't ever wake up from."

Harry reeled, struck by realization that his cousin felt guilty about their deaths. But it certainly wasn't Dudley's fault. Harry's cousin squinted curiously at the broom rack holding Harry's racing broom. Poor Dudders looked on the verge of saying something before thinking better of it and then the bookcases caught his attention. "Got anything good to read?"

"Er, yeah."

"Novels? Like Tolkien? Bet you wizard-types would get a good laugh at what Muggles think how magic works."

Harry felt a bit taken off-guard, surprised at the question. "No, mostly magical history, supplementary texts for school, and the like."

Dudley blinked with confusion as if it was difficult to comprehend how someone could have nothing leisure to read.

"Not a lick of comics anywhere? No Loony Nonby or Martin Miggs?" Theodore shook his head, clicking his tongue in annoyance. "You're worse than Da, Harry."

"I have a copy of Tales of Beedle the Bard. They're the wizard version of fairy tales," Harry retorted.

Theodore rubbed his forehead in exasperation. "I know what I'm getting you for Christmas."

"Way to spoil the surprise."

"Ehm," Dudley interrupted with a clearing of his throat. "Don't worry about it." He rolled onto the bed with a dog-eared book in hand. "I'll reread one of my favorites."

The two Slytherins exchanged a look. Harry said, "Well, I'll leave you to get settled in. Please don't touch any of my things, but feel free to call Dobby the house elf if you need him. Be careful when you wander around, too. Boggarts get in now and then, and they're frightful things."

Dudley grunted an assent, and Harry grabbed Theodore's arm to tug him to the door.

Once they were heading down the stairs, his friend said, "He was nicer than I expected given how much of a bully he was…"

Harry grimaced and nodded. Could his absence have caused so much change in his cousin? He would have said that was impossible years ago. Perhaps the Psych-Healers had been completely right to wipe the Dursleys' memories of Harry and corrected the Dursleys' dysfunctional family dynamics in the process. If only the Ministry officials had been so thoughtful of protecting the Dursleys from Voldemort…

When they had reached the bottom of the stairs, Theodore grinned and dug a hand in his pocket. "I completely forgot I'd finished your birthday present as you were sleeping. Want it now or later?"

Harry didn't think he would ever want another birthday present. Not when sickness crept into his belly at the thought. However, Theodore had gone through the trouble to create something. What harm could it do? "Yeah, alright."

With a smile, Theodore pulled a small square package from his pocket. "I made it," He bragged happily as they continued to descend the stairs. " _Without_ Da's supervision."

The package had been wrapped in paper with animated Snitches on it. Harry tore it off without missing a beat. Inside was a small cube about an inch across, high, and long. He inspected its slightly shiny surface in the dull light. "What's it do?"

"Press the bottom with your finger. It's keyed to your signature, so you'll be the only one capable of turning it on or off."

He did as directed and sensed magic fill the box. The box began to glow faintly like faint moonlight. "Now, what?"

"Ah, the volume must be low still. Pat it on the green side; the silver side lowers the volume."

Harry tapped the deep green side once. Immediately the sound of cicadas washed over them, and the box buzzed with the noise of hot summer months. Harry felt his muscle tension ease. "Oh, so is this what you made my wand into?"

"Er, I only used a speck of it to key it to you," Theodore said sheepishly. "No more than that."

"Well, thanks. It's nice." Harry turned it off and pocketed it as they headed into the kitchen to grab something to eat.


End file.
